


(No One Knows to) Remember Why it's Wrong

by TimmyJaybird



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Gunkink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 07:58:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9594626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimmyJaybird/pseuds/TimmyJaybird
Summary: “Are you going to be good for me tonight? Are you going to be my little terror, boy?”





	

**Author's Note:**

> In one morning I wrote two JayRoman fics, after never writing them before. The ship just hit me like a freight train.

The floor was hard, underneath Jason’s knees. Hard and cold, and even though there was a nice rush in the roo, plush, _expensive_ , he wasn’t on it. Wasn’t good enough for that yet. Maybe later, with less of his armor, when he was worn down, closer to breaking than he dared to admit.

 

For now, he got the hard floor on his knees, and the feeling of warm metal, dragging over his lower lip. Warm because the gun had been _fired_ , when it was pulled from Jason’s holster. The bullet was lodged in the wall as proof. Jason knew when he left, when he went out into the night with this man, that magic would work. It’d be fixed when he came back, came to sleep in this very same room.

 

Or there’d be some strange work of art, hanging in front of it. Lavish expense meant to hide the violence he was letting in so close to him, back down into his heart and gut and very _soul_.

 

The gun nudged his mouth, and Jason stared up at the last man he should let at him like this. Roman, behind that heavy mask, that smelled like leather and oil and cologne- and Jason might wonder why he _bothered_ expect the mix was heady and made him dizzy, made him cling to the man tighter when he was in his lap, grinding into him like a girl he’d _hired_.

 

Roman didn’t say a word, simply pushed harder, pinched Jason’s lip between the gun and his teeth. Jason opened his mouth, and quickly the muzzle was shoved inside. He choked, as it pinched his tongue down, pinched the juncture of his lips because Roman wanted it _deeper_. Jason’s hands clenched tightly, fisted on his own thighs, as the gun twisted, forced his tongue to slid along it.

 

Metal, oil. Thick with chemicals it almost made him gag, but he didn’t push it away, didn’t _stop_. He sucked at the muzzle like he knew the man wanted, like it was his cock instead, and Roman chuckled, rumbling up rom his chest.

 

“Good boy,” he whispered, and Jason pretended he didn’t shiver. Pretended his cock didn’t jump, pressing to the confines of his cup. Pretended this wasn’t _happening_ because if he admitted it was, he’d have to admit that he liked it.

 

The gun slid back out, dragged wet across Jason’s lips. He continued to stare up, at the stark little grin on Roman’s mask, and swore, in his mind, it was moving, that the mask was smirking, like it could see through Jason, see each nerve coming to life, see how much this actually did to him. The gun pulled his lower lip down, dragged spit along his chin, and then was back, quick thrusts over Jason’s tongue that had him whimpering.

 

He _didn’t_ whimper. But Roman… Roman brought something out in him. Roman made him forget he had power. Roman made him _forget_ why he was here.

 

The city. Saving the damn city. Proving himself to _Bruce_. The Bat’s approval, it was more important than whatever his cock wanted-

 

“Suck harder.” Roman’s voice broke through his thoughts, and Jason listened. He lifted up higher on his knees, his hips rocking, and he caught a glimpse of Roman’s finger, sliding the caress the trigger. Was the safety on? Jason had no idea. Roman had slid his hand along his groin, down to his thigh to unholster the gun. He’d fired it into the wall and been close enough that Jason wanted to kiss him, wanted to drag his tongue along leather, like at his mask like the good puppy Roman wanted him to be-

 

And then he’d been shoved to his knees. He’d never seen it happen. And maybe he was going to die here, with his cock hard and a bullet lodged in his brain, accomplishing nothing getting his rocks off a few times, and showing this man that yeah, even the ones in Gotham who try to be _good_ are tainted down to their souls with desires he could bring out, he could maniuplate.

 

Jason almost didn’t care. Roman _did_ that to him, too. Made him only care for the moment, not the consequences. It left him tossing and turning at night. Because he was supposed to be focused, was supposed to be _beyond_ this. But he wasn’t.

 

He never would be.

 

The gun pushed deeper, and Jason’s eyes fell, from Roman’s face. Trailed down that expensive suit, paused at his groin. He knew he was hard, could see the shape of his cock through those overly fitted slacks. Jason felt himself salivating, felt spit sliding fr the corners of his mouth, down his chin. He swore it was the gun doing it, and not the thought of replacing it with something different.

 

Roman crouched down, the gun pausing, still deep in Jason’s mouth. His other hand reached out, pinched Jason’s chin and held him still, his head inclining as he studied him. Jason could feel the heat in his cheeks, new the mess he had to bed, eyes hazy and needy, hair beginning to stick to his forehead. He knew how he looked when he wanted, and he should have been _faking_ this-

 

But it was real. Possible the _realist_ desire he’d felt in a long time.

 

“Such a messy boy,” Roman chided, his hand pulling away. He rubbed his fingers together, expensive leather spreading Jason’s saliva. “And so easy to play with.” His hand slid down, cupped Jason, and Jason bucked towards his hand. Roman squeezed, and Jason damned all the layers in the way- his pants, his cup, his underwear. But he felt it still, and whined, the gun carefully sliding now is slow thrusts, over his tongue. “Have you earned this?” Roman asked, and there was such amusement to his voice, such delight in seeing Jason so torn apart.

 

Jason wanted to nod but couldn’t. He swallowed, and in response sucked loudly at the gun. Roman chuckled again, and the sound vibrated Jason’s bones, made his cock ache in ways it never had. Roman fondled him harder, until he was squeezing so hard it _hurt_ , but Jason was still pushing towards him, for it, needing it, needing anything.

 

Roman slid his hand slightly lower, squeezed Jason’s balls then- and when his hand tightened to the point that Jason saw a flash of white hot _pain_ , he yelped, around the gun.

 

“Are you going to be good for me, tonight?” he asked, leaning closer. Jason was more unnerved by the _lack_ of feeling his breath this close, thanks to the mask, than if he could. “Are you going to be my little terror, boy?”

 

Jason managed a small nod, and the pressure on his balls eased. Roman hummed, his hand moving back to Jason’s cock, squeezing and trying to stroke. And it was enough, because Jason was so turned on he couldn’t even think, couldn’t fathom this was even reality. His hips bucked forward and he came, cum spirting into his underwear, sticking to the heated flesh of his confined cock. He felt drool sliding down his chin again, felt the gun as it held over his tongue, close to his throat, as he sucked at it, mewlng desperately. He squeezed his eyes shut, the corners stinging, wet, as he rode out the waves, until it was nothing but a dull buzz in his skull, faded static in his spine.

 

When the gun pulled from his mouth, Jason dared to open his eyes. Roman had straightened up, was examinin the wet sheen his spit had given the gun.

 

“The Bat was a fool to give you up,” he mused, and Jason swore, that mask was smirking. Or he was losing his mind. Roman didn’t say another word, he turned, lifting the gun, finger sliding over the trigger. The crack as it fired felt deafening, and Jason turned, stared at the noew _two_ little holes in the wall of the room that was _meant_ to be his space.

 

Expect nothing was his here.

 

Roman glanced at the gun again, before dropping it onto the floor, by Jason’s knees. He walked towards the door, pausing when he reached it to glance back. “Ten minutes,” he said, and then he was gone, leaving Jason with a clock ticking down in his head. He couldn’t be late. Roman wouldn’t _like_ that.

 

And Jason didn’t know when he’d started caring, how it had happened so quickly. But if he cleaned up, was on time, was _good_ and _terrifying_ and listened- then Roman would have him again, later. Those leather clad hands would touch his bare skin, pry Jason open and let him ride his cock, until Jason was a wet mess and the stain of his own defeat and desire was searing his insides, like molten fire.

 

If he was _good_ , he could have it all. And he was having trouble remembering why he couldn’t be good.


End file.
